


Vanishing Act

by likeadeuce



Category: Marvel, X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-16
Updated: 2010-02-16
Packaged: 2017-10-07 08:15:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/63174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/likeadeuce/pseuds/likeadeuce
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean's possessed by this psychic force that enhances her powers; it might not end well. Just a hunch.</p><p>This is not a baby fic.  (Pregnancy/childbirth  issues might be disturbing).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vanishing Act

Jean's roommate, Misty Knight, was the one to clue her in.

"I must be more nervous about this portfolio shoot than I thought," Jean said, rummaging through the refrigerator. "Not to overshare, but that's the third time I've puked just today. Hey, what do you think would happen if I mixed this cranberry juice in with passionfruit and then maybe added some black cherry ice cream?"

"Girlfriend -- " Misty placed a hand on her shoulder. "I hate to tell you, but your problem ain't nerves."

"You think it's a Phoenix thing? Because the Professor says I'm adjusting to the whole alien psychic possession situation pretty well, all things considered."

"What I think, honey, is that you better call your guy."

"Oh," Jean opened the juice, the smell hit her, and she felt her stomach surge again. "Oh, shit."

*

Moira answered the phone at the mansion and was full, as usual of informative gossip about the X-men – Storm was flirting _shamelessly_ with Nightcrawler _and_ Colossus – but she couldn't give any information on the team's whereabouts.

So Jean hung up, and sat down in the dark, put her hands to her forehead and sent a thought out into the aether. _Scott?_

He responded immediately. _Jean! What's wrong? Is it the Phoenix?_

_No. . .I'm . . .that's fine. . .I just wanted to talk. . ._

_Dammit, Wolverine! Sorry – bad time – thing with Master Mold – it's fine, we've got it in control just – Colossus! – yes, I know he likes you to throw him but can you – look, I gotta go! I want to see you -- soon! Just – oh, hell, gotta go._

He disengaged, and Jean did the only thing she could think of. She went to the photo shoot.

*

"Good news, Grey. The agency loves the pictures. They want to see more. More of you. We're talking catalogs, billboards. City buses even." Marci McGovern's shrill voice rattled through the phone. Jean looked down at her hands. Her picture could be on city buses. ". . .these are the definitely the best you've done. You've got a presence about you, a glow, almost an aura. I don't know what you're doing differently –"

"Well –" Jean started to put her index finger into her mouth and stopped herself. Neither supermodels nor superheroes bit their nails, she was pretty sure. "I've been possessed by a cosmic entity, and also I seem to be pregnant—"

"Oh, Jeannie, you're such a kidder. Serves me right. Don't tell me. Just, whatever it is, keep it up. See you down here Thursday at 2.."

"Thursday at 2," Jean repeated, but the woman had hung up already.

Misty walked into the room, raising an eyebrow. "Doctor?"

"Agent."

_"Jean."_

"Maybe I should take the test again."

"Again? You've had five positives in a row."

"Maybe I'm reading it wrong. And – and -- how come I'm actually losing weight?"

"Maybe because you haven't eaten anything that resembles _food_ in a week."

Jean wrinkled her nose. "Food smells funny and then I throw up. Anyway, models aren't supposed to eat. I heard Kate Moss gets everything she needs through a protein IV."

"You seen her lately? I can handle a cosmic goddess for a roomie, but I draw the line at 'White Girl, the Human Twig.' You need to call a doctor, and you _need_ to call Scott."

"He's got so much to handle right now. And -- he'll want to get married and we're hardly even in our twenties, and I have this crazy space god thing, and he has a team to run. Or . . .he won't want to get married, and – and, it doesn't matter. We can't have a baby right now."

"So don't get married. Don't have a baby. But talk to him. This won't go away just because you want it to."

Jean sighed. "I'll go to the clinic tomorrow. After that, I'll talk to Scott."

*

The doctor frowned over his chart, looked up at Jean, then looked down again. "Have you been under a lot of stress?"

Jean pushed a lock of hair behind her shoulder and pulled the paper robe closer to her. "Well – it is kind of a stressful situation. I'm in a distance relationship and I'm trying to be a model. It's not a great time to get pregnant."

"Yes, that's – what I meant, actually. Stress-related reactions can sometimes duplicate the symptoms of pregnancy."

"I took five tests!" Jean objected. "I must have lost – God, something must have happened."

He glanced at the chart. "But you haven't had any bleeding? No, I'm sorry, Miss Grey. All the tests – your hormone levels – you aren't pregnant, and I can't find anything in your blood work that would have triggered a false positive." He gave a sympathetic smile. "Those tests can be difficult to read."

"I didn't read it wrong. Do the test again!"

"Now Jean. It's nothing to be embarrassed about. False pregnancy is not an uncommon phenomenon. Sometimes – mind over matter – if you'd like me to refer you, and possibly your partner, to a family therapist –"

Jean's head snapped up, and she looked at him. "Mind over matter," she repeated. "You're saying, if I wanted badly enough to be pregnant, my body might react, so – if I was and I didn't want to be -- it could work the other way. Right?"

"No. No. You see – mind over matter is just an expression for the way that psychological and physical processes interact. It's not as though –" He laughed. "Well, it's not as though a person could exercise mental control over the molecular structure of the body."

"Right. Of course not." Jean laughed herself, feeling only the slightest edge of hysteria, seeing only the tiniest flame flicker at the edge of her vision. "That would be crazy."

*

Scott called a few nights later. "God," he said. "It is so good to hear your voice. I swear, I am never going to Madripoor again. And I am _so_ sorry, but, look -- the Professor says we're taking a vacation next week and I am going to hold him to it. So. How was your photo   
shoot?

"Okay. Marci thinks they can get my ass on billboards and bus stops."

"That's – wow, that's awesome. You'll be famous, soon. My girlfriend will be a famous person. Not famous in the sense of 'wanted' and 'notorious,' either, for a change. I mean, you'll actually have a famous face --"

"Not exactly. When I said my ass, I literally . . . Look, it's a blue jeans ad. And those were the shots they liked. Don't laugh. And don't _tell_ anyone. Not that I guess you would want to brag about your girlfriend's butt being famous. Would you?"

"That is . . . one of those questions where any answer I give will get me in trouble. So I'm going to pretend I didn't hear it and. . .hey, was there something you wanted to talk to me about? Last week, when you called?"

"Oh. That. Don't worry about that. I promise you." Jean's free hand clenched, and settled into her lap. "I'm absolutely certain. It was nothing."


End file.
